Recovery
by Harry Potter is my Aesthetic
Summary: Hermione thought it was finally the end for her, but apparently she was wrong. Could a deal made to help her out from someone completely unexpected turn into something more than reputation building and speeding up a recovery?
1. Prologue

**Hi! This is the second attempt at posting this fanfiction so I hope this time it goes better... This is also my first ever fanfiction and I don't know whether it's good or not- the more I read it the more I have doubts. Please let me know if you like it! Thank you, and enjoy!**

There was nothing left to her life. Nothing worth living for. Her job was falling apart, and that was her fault. Her friendships were on the rocks, and that was her fault. Her life was completely shit, and there was no way out. _Hermione; you're wrong - there is, of course, one way,_ she thought as she placed the paracetamol in her hands for the third time.

A lot of her thoughts after her first and second attempts were asking why she survived, and she realised that the only reason they had failed her was because she wasn't certain that it was what she wanted. That it was the only way. But having the time to reconsider made her adamant that this was the right thing to do.

She listened to the harsh silence in her flat and It reminded her of how lonely she felt. As the tears began to fall slowly from her eyes, she swallowed each tablet one by one. Her mind became fuzzy and she knew it was working. She knew she could finally get away from the living hell that was her insignificant little life. Her body felt like a huge mass and she could barely hold herself up anymore. The sight of the face of death made her feel more alive as she felt herself drifting into an eternal sleep.

And then, nothing. The ground could have been a pillow for all she had known.


	2. Chapter 1

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Harry had been dreading this for weeks. He hadn't seen Hermione since Halloween, and it was now the third of January. Things between them had been awkward for ages, and he needed to talk to her about it. She had been acting funny too, telling him that she loved him a lot, and it made him worry about what was going on. He tried to convince himself that it was just a phase she was going through but he knew there was something more. He had put up with her unpredictable moods and constant crying since the war, and he knew that after all this time he needed to ask her about it. Of course, he regretted not seeing her about it before, but it had taken him this long to work out what to say without making her upset. It was no surprise that Ron couldn't deal with her.

Walking towards the fireplace, he began to plan what he was going to say. He knew she would be mad for just rolling up in her house in muggle London to 'have a chat' after 2 months of complete silence between them, but it had to be discussed, and better late than never.

"Hermione Granger's house!" he said clearly and he went up in flames, and landing in her living room. The lights were on but everything was silent. Harry had always loved Hermione's living room. It always felt so cosy. The walls were a light shade of brown aside from one wall which was orange. Her sofas were fluffy and grey with orange and red cushions, and one big cushion that said 'home'. In the corner sat a large television – he knew of them from living with the Dursleys but he had never seen one quite this big before. The floor was deep oak, but it had a large, orange carpet in the middle of the floor which covered most of the floorboards. The fireplace, however was cold, and when it was windy it sent a draught through the room and made it cold. The fire was often lit in the room to conceal this.

However today, the fire was not lit. Confused by this, he made his way into the kitchen to see if she was there. The lights were off in there too. Wondering where else she could be, he made his way up the steep staircase to the first floor to see if she had gone to take a nap. She was not in her room either. His mind went haywire as he tried to think of where else to look. She might have gone out to see someone, or she might be at work – she was quite high up in her profession and might need to work longer hours, but why would the lights be on if she was out?

Suddenly he had a thought and sighed in a sort of relief that he might not have to hunt her down. _She might have fallen asleep in the bath?_ He wondered over to the door, but before he could get there he saw a hand. It was very pale, and had the wristband from the Quidditch World Cup around her wrist. It was her. But why was she on the floor? She must be very uncomfortable.

At first he thought she was asleep, but then she saw the bruise on her head and the blood all over the floor. In the sink there was some vomit, but he didn't know how long it had been there.

Then he noticed the source of the blood. On her wrists were engravements almost that were bleeding lightly and dripping into the puddle on the floor. It was not a pretty sight.

Panicked, he flood Ron and they arrived back at Hermione's place shortly after. He reacted the same as her – not knowing what to say and staring at the traumatic view before them.

"We should take her to St Mungos," Ron said shakily and began to lift her up. All Harry could do was nod. He held her around her waist so they could apparate, and Harry held her hand and linked arms with Ron. Although she and Ron had broken up, he still cared about her a lot.

After what had seemed like an eternal apparation, they arrived in reception at St Mungos. A healer saw them, and beckoned them to follow him. They arrived in a small room with lots of vials of potions in them. The healer, who was called Katie, took a blood replenishing potion and poured it down Hermione's throat. They stood there and waited for her to remain consciousness, but they got no response. Seemingly panicked, the healer checked her pulse and relaxed a little.

"She's alive, but just. There's something else wrong with her but I'm not sure what it is – maybe a muggle substance?"

"Do you know how to help her? I mean the cuts…" Ron's voice trailed off, and Harry could see the picture of Hermione on the floor in his eyes.

"Yes, the cuts were inflicted with muggle methods therefore it would be best to let them heal on their own, although they will leave nasty scars. From what I can examine here it looks like she has done all this to herself, maybe on purpose. Do you know of any reasons why she might want to hurt herself or even kill herself?"

They both thought for a while, and then Harry froze. He knew Hermione had been acting weird, but suicidal? Why didn't she tell him? He choked.

"Well, Hermione has been acting… weird for about 2 years now, and I thought it was because of the war so I tried not to bring it up too much. But Hermione? Suicidal? I thought she would tell either of us about it. Oh, Hermione…" He choked again but this time to hold back tears.

"She will be fine, Mr Potter, but I need you both to go back to her house to look for the potential muggle substance that might have caused her to pass out. Did you notice vomit at all?"

"Yes, there was some in the sink. I don't know how long she was lying there but I don't think it was very long. I didn't notice any substances before but we will look, won't we. Ron?"

Ron stood silent, staring at Hermione. She looked dead. There was no other way to put it, and it was frightening.

They left the room together in silence. There was nothing left to say. She had been their best friend and sister since first year and they didn't even notice when she was suicidal? But it did explain her behaviour. They, however, had a lot of explaining to do for theirs.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi!**

 **I am completely overwhelmed by the response I'm getting already, thank you so much! It's so weird; when I posted it I thought noone would read it but I was surprised how fast that changed! Thank you so much, and keep reviewing! Enjoy xxx**

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They remained silent until they landed on Hermione's carpet on the ground. The thought that Hermione was going through something like that without telling either of them was sickening. Alright, she might have lost a bit of trust with Ron since they broke up, but Harry? She knew Harry was there for her, and she knew he would do anything for her, but she still kept it all a secret? It left them with nothing to say, so with the silence thickening like cream, they made their way up the small staircase into the blood-stained bathroom.

"Do you think we should clean up all the blood first? It's making me feel a bit sick and it already smells of vomit in here," Ron suggested. He had never liked blood.

"Sure, _scourgify_." In an instant the blood was gone from the floor, making the room seem slightly less post-horror scene like.

Hermione's bathroom was bigger than Harry had remembered. It had grey tiles on the floor and light blue walls. There was a big mirror in behind the wall of a deep, square sink with a cabinet underneath it, and next to the sink was a bag and her toothbrush. Everything was so neat – unlike Ginny was. There was a bath along the wall under a window with a leafy pattern on it, and there was a box full of bathbombs next to it. He had had a bath while staying at Hermione's on new year's eve last year. He had drunk too much and had a hangover the next morning, so Hermione ran him a bath and gave him a cup of Hot Chocolate, and told him to relax.

That was before he noticed something was wrong. When everything had become more normal after the trauma of her and Ron's breakup.

Harry remembered Ron and Hermione's breakup very clearly. For ages Hermione had been having crazy mood swings, and it became difficult to tell if she was feeling okay or not. Everyone had assumed it was because of the war, which, Harry realised, probably made the whole situation worse - he knew how hard it was to be misunderstood. One day, Ron got mad, and after a series of events, Ron stormed into Harry's flat in a rage.

 _"Harry I can't do this anymore! She's crazy! I haven't done anything wrong and she snaps at me all the time. It's not the same anymore. I'm going to end it Harry. It's gone too far. There's nothing left to do about it"_

 _Harry was shocked how sure Ron was with his revelation._

 _"What? Are you sure? After everything you've been through? It won't be the same Ron, not if you break up with her."_

 _"No! It's too stressful. Harry can I move in here for a bit? She'll probably kick me out."_

 _"Uh, sure. We'll transfigure a sofa for you."_

 _And that was that. Harry was shocked. He hoped he wouldn't have to choose between them._

Harry snapped back into reality when Ron began to speak;

"So do you know what we're looking for? A potion? Something muggle that I don't know about?" Ron finally broke the silence and was clearly eager to get out of there. He had lived there for a year after the war with Hermione too, so it was probably more unnerving for him than it was for Harry.

"No, but I remember once Aunt Petunia took too many of her pills and she got sick, but I can't remember what the pills were called,"

"Pills? What are pills? Do they kill you?" Clearly pills were a muggle thing.

"Well I think they are these small round things that doctors, or muggle healers give you if you're sick. If you take too many they make you unwell, clearly."

"Do you know what they look like?"

"Yes, they are very small and white. They might be in a plastic casing."

They both begun to search the room for the mysterious pills. The room, although it was big, didn't have many places to hide things so it should'nt have taken too much time.

Harry found the pills alright. He recognised them from the cabinets back in Privet Drive. Hermione had taken eight pills. Harry wasn't a healer but he knew that that couldn't have been a good thing.

"Ron, here they are. Hermione took at least eight, so we need to get back to St Mungos as quickly as possible to let them know."

"Harry, I know it sounds stupid, but will you stay the night with me here? For old time's sake of course, but as much as I love Hermione and everything, I don't want to sleep in a hospital and here would be the best place to be with Hermione even though she's not here. We can go back in the morning and see her but just for tonight can we stay here?"

"What are you on about? We need to go back, Hermione's lifes in danger! This is about her not you, and I would do anything for her health even if it did mean sleeping in a hospital. Look, I know that Fred…"

"You have no idea Harry! It's where he died! It's not the same without him. I can't go back there Harry, not for the night. You know I love Hermione but I can't go there. Not now."

Harry stood in silence thinking. Of course he knew what it felt like to lose someone close to you, he saw Sirius slip away from him right in front of his eyes. But Ron had other family; wonderful Ginny, caring and wonderful parents and 3 other brothers, so loosing Fred, as sad as it must have been would not be the same as it was losing Sirius. Not when that was the closest thing to family he had left.

"Fine. I'll sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed. We have to go back there at some point though, and you know that."

Nothing more was said for the rest of the night.

It took Harry a while the next morning to remember where he was. And when he remembered where he was, he remembered why he was there, and what he had to do that day. Hermione.

It was not long before Ron came down the stairs looking like he hadn't slept a wink all night. Harry, although he was of course very worried about Hermione, slept pretty well on her sofa.

"It's time, Ron. Time to see how she is."

They got dressed and apparated to St Mungos, silent in anticipation of what state they'd find her in. They soon found where she would be.

Battling through paparazzi, they finally reached the room in which Hermione lay. She looked no better than she had last night- her face grey and cold, so lifeless.

The healer that they had met last night walked in.

"Did you find the substance?"

"Yes. It was a paracetamol pill. She took eight of them. Do you think she will be alright? Do you know how you can make her better?" Ron sounded desperate.

"Eight? Oh my, she really was determined. Well if she's stayed unconscious this long it means that her body's trying to fight it off. I'm going to force her into a coma for a few weeks when she wakes up because she's dangerous to herself, and needs a chance to heal before she can be discharged. It may sound drastic, but everything's been thought through, and it's all in the interest of Miss Granger making a sound recovery. I hope you understand. There will be a junior healer tending to her wounds every day until she is in the right state to be awoken."

It was a lot of information to take in at once, but both of them knew that it was for her own good. If only they had been there for her when she had needed it, then none of this would have happened.

A few weeks without Hermione not knowing if she's okay? It seemed completely unnatural. But they'd just have to go along with it – the healer knew what she was doing.


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello again!**

 **We finally meet Draco! I'm sure some of you were starting to wonder when that would happen... I hope you like how I've interpreted him. Let me knew either way, it would be interesting to hear what you think about all the different characters. Whether you like it or hate it, let me know with a review! Enjoy xx**

Draco turned to face the back of his large manor on his way to a new, uneventful week.

He hated his house. It was too large and empty, and the fact that he was the only one living there made it seem even more empty. He had thought about moving out before, but he remembered the amount of effort that would be involved and dismissed the idea immediately. The thought had also crossed his mind that he could find someone to live in the house with, but again, that would involve effort, let alone interacting with other people, which was effort in itself. People were confusing, and no one would want to live with him anyway.

Another thing he hated was the fact that he cared about his reputation. Of course, he had earned his reputation simply by being a Malfoy, but now that his father had died, he needed a reputation for himself. He and his mother had discussed many options for him to redeem himself in the eyes of the public, and all of them sounded far too unlike him to be even vaguely be convincing. End his prejudices and hook up with a mudblood? He thought not. Become friends with Golden boy? Hah! Please, he had standards. It seemed that the only thing left to do was to get a job that people respected. He couldn't bare being a teacher because he hated children, and he was pretty sure McGonagall wouldn't have him at Hogwarts anyway. He could work at the Ministry, but that was such a common thing to do, and while some departments interested him, he wouldn't be able to face being in the public eye.

Since the war he had been either forgotten or hated by everyone he knew, even people he didn't know. A part of him wished that people would understand his side of the story, but most people only listened to the sob stories of the wondrous Golden Trio, so he had no hope. Besides the thought that he would get attention scared him. He wanted to be left alone more than anything.

After a lot of thought and self-debate, Draco decided to train and become a healer. It was a respected profession, with a decent pay, and was reasonably rewarding. He would be the lowest of the low which was not where he wanted to be, but he was still young, and barely knew what he was doing. There was time enough to be high in the ranks.

Two years had passed since he had had that discussion with himself, and since then he had grown to enjoy parts of the profession. However, he did not enjoy being around children, especially pureblood ones that reminded him of himself. As proud as he was, he knew he was an obnoxious child, and it was mainly his father's fault. Luckily, in his time as a healer, he had never had to look after someone he knew. Whether that was a deliberate choice by his colleagues at St Mungos, he had no idea.

It had been the morning of an ordinary Monday, until he had started his shift. The first person he had to tend to was none other than the Golden Girl and mudblood, Granger. _Is this a joke?_ he thought as he walked over and began to examine her. She looked so pathetically helpless, lying there, unconscious and with her hospital gown on. And then he read the report…

 _Hermione Granger, age 22_

 _Blood status: Muggle born_ 'Don't I know it…' he thought,

 _Failed suicide attempt by muggle substance Paracetamol, a pain killer but can be deadly if overdosed. Unconscious, but if awoken must be put in a coma to save her from herself. Open, deep cut wounds on her wrists and thighs that need stitches._

Hermione Granger? Suicide? This had to be a joke. Why, she was a wizarding sweetheart, not to mention best friends with Harry Potter. What could she possibly want to commit suicide for?

The questions came flooding in as he walked to her side, and noticed the 'deep cut wounds' mentioned on her report. If she had inflicted those on herself, she had definitely meant for someone to see them. He reluctantly lifted up her skirt, and noticed more deep cuts that were fresh. The bleeding had stopped but they needed cleaning and some bandages.

As he walked away from Hermione he thought again about what he had seen. He had worked with attempted suicide cases before, but none like this. Draco recalled thinking about death in the 6th Year when he had been assigned his task by the Dark Lord, but he had never thought of mutilating his body before.

He had to find some rather large bandages to cover up what mess she had made of her legs and wrists. The fact that she was unconscious made his life easier, because she wouldn't be angry with him for lifting up her skirt, even if it was his job.

As he began to wrap the bandages around her limbs, he noticed how different she looked now compared to when they were at school together. It was like she hadn't eaten in weeks; the skin in her face had sunken back into her bones, her face was grey and colourless, and she looked painfully thin. It was refreshing and almost satisfying to see someone who was known for being so alive and courageous to be this vulnerable.

After he had finished wrapping the bandages, he absentmindedly touched her forehead. It was so cold, so lifeless. There was nothing there, except the very gently beat of her heart. Anyone could mistake her for being dead. Not that he cared, of course.

Draco spent the rest of the day mystified at what he saw. The fact that Hermione Granger, war hero and leader in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the ministry was unthinkable, and shook Draco a little. What could she possibly be sad about? She had everything she could possible ask for. She was rich, famous and had rich and famous friends, and everything in life seemed to go her way. It was unfathomable.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, did you tend to Miss Granger this morning? Her wounds needed bandanges." The leader of his department approached him. He knew that she despised him, but tried to be polite to keep up appearances.

"Yes, her wounds are all bandaged and she's still asleep. Can I ask, do you know why she did this?"

Immediately he regretted asking – what if she thought he actually cared? It was merely out of interest, and besides, he had known her for a decade even if it wasn't a particularly close acquaintance.

"No, but even if we did know why she did it the information would not be made known to you. Now get back to work Malfoy, we don't want any trouble."

He left the room without another word. One of his least favourite things after feeling stupid was not knowing. It made him restless and eager to know what was happening, and he definitely did not want to be found showing that he cared about Granger in the slightest; it would go back on everything he had said and done since he had known her.

Draco had never quite worked out when Hermione actually stood in his ranks. Other than her blood status and the fact that she was friends with his greatest enemy, he had no specific reason not to like her. This confused him because he had spent all these years hating her and making sure she knew where she stood, and now that he had grown up he realised that she could have been his friend. Of course she couldn't – his father would never have allowed it.

However, his father didn't have a say in his life anymore. Or anything really – he was dead after all. He didn't remember the occasion very clearly because it had been the end of the war and he was more focussed on trying to sleep the night without nightmares.

 _It was the middle of the night on a Tuesday, and Draco had just gone to bed. His father had been ill for weeks and it was certain he was going to die. After the fall of the Dark Lord, there was nothing left to live for, so his father had given up, and when death was near to him, he didn't try to fight it._

 _Draco thought that it was unfair how peaceful his father's death had been compared to all those he had killed, and that he should at least have suffered a bit more. But there was nothing he could do now; Lucius was gone, and he was relieved._

On his way out of the building, he passed Pansy.

"Hi Draco! Long-time no see! How have you been?" She always seemed so happy these days.

"Good, I suppose. You?"

"Brilliant! I'm going for coffee with Hermione tonight. She's not as bad as you think Draco, honestly. And she's single…!"

"Do you even know who I am? Of course I'm not going to even think about asking the muggle born out, it's against everything I stand for!" He would have said mudblood, but Pansy always shouted at him for saying it. She had changed so much.

"You haven't had a girlfriend since you broke up with me, and you're quite frankly sad. At least come with me. She won't mind – she'll be civil and so will you."

"I can tell you now that you won't be going anywhere with her whether she's single or not, as she happens to currently be lying unconscious in a hospital bed. You might want to go and see her – she's a right state." She ran off without another word.

Ever since she had befriended the mudblood she had been so nice and caring. She might as well have been a Gryffindor if she could change that easily. It was disgraceful.

And so, Draco made his way home the way he did every day. He had to admit, Pansy had had a point about him having no life. He had no true friends to confide in, but what secrets did he have any more anyway? Real life is so different to school. But Draco hadn't changed at all. Not one bit.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hi! I know it has been about 2 weeks since I uploaded last, I'm sorry! I hope you enjoy it anyway. Oh, and please review! Thanks for reading xxx**

3 days had gone, and Draco had replaced her bandages a further 7 times. Each time he replaced them made him wonder why she would want to do this to herself. It seemed obscene. But she was still unconscious so he wouldn't find out. He dismissed his thoughts almost immediately; it wasn't like he even cared.

He dreaded the day when she woke up. He knew she would definitely not be happy that he, of all people, was the one changing her bandages and witnessing the mess she had become. It was a funny thought really, seeing her angry, embarrassed face exploding. Quite an image.

He also wondered if Potty or Weasel would visit her. They must know she was there. Come to think of it, no one had been to visit her. Not her family, any of her friends, and he was sure she must have plenty. In fact, she probably had people queueing to be her friend. Interesting that none had come to see her.

There had been little press there either. It was strange how someone so famous and _heroic_ could be quite so ignored.

He still hated her of course. She was on a very long list of people he hated actually, starting with Harry. Why was a mudblood smarter than him? He had given up on some of his prejudices since the end of the war, but old habits die hard.

Anyway, that day could have been like any other. It was very depressing having to look at her grey malnourished face every day, and it made him uncomfortable.

Then she stirred. Panic rushed through him like flowing water as he considered his options; he could go and find his boss which was the sensible option, wait for her to wake up and then laugh at her, which might lose him his job and the reputation he was working so hard to build (but it might have been worth it), or replace her bandages like he was supposed to and pretend he hadn't noticed that she had showed a sign of being alive, which she had struggled to do in her time at the hospital.

Deciding to carry on with his job turned out to be a terrible idea. He had started unravelling her bandage when she awoke with a start to his surprise, sat bolt upright, and squinted her eyes at him, presumably to work out if it was really him. He smirked.

"Malfoy? What the hell are you doing here? Oh god, I feel so sick." Her head fell onto the back of the bed, and Draco decided at that moment it would be best to find his boss to tell her what was going on.

"Awake? Oh wonderful! Get her a cup of water, and ask her if she wants anything else. I'll be over in two seconds" The healer chirped. He had always hated her happy attitude

The thought of being along with Granger sickened him. It hadn't been so bad seeing her like that when she was unconscious, but now that she was awake he might have to interact with her. And saying something to her would likely lead to him getting fired.

He got the water as his boss had said and went back over to her bed where Granger lay limply and was apparently working out where she was.

"What are you doing here, ferret?" It appeared that nothing had changed.

"Ah, Granger. Lovely to see you again. It might interest you to know that I work here. However, I could ask you the same."

She glared at him, and became suddenly interested in the cup of water he had handed her. She still looked ridiculously pale, he noticed, even compared to his fair skin. She probably needed to eat.

"Are you hungry?" She thought about the question for a while before finally retorting coldly,

"You actually care? Wouldn't expect so much from you. Well, yes I am hungry, but I don't want to eat. I don't feel like it."

"Well, unfortunately you have to eat. And it's my job to care, and my job is not something I'd risk for a petty hatred from school. So, I'll get you some toast and leave you to your thoughts, yes?"

"Whatever. Feel free to leave"

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way out of the room, trying to contain his annoyance.

He was surprised Potty and Weasel hadn't been to visit already actually, but he supposed he couldn't treat her any different than another patient, and so proceeded to make arrangements for his two arch enemies from school to come to his work place. Joy.

Draco dreaded the next day with a passion. There was nothing he wanted more than for one of them to get sick and not be able to come, or something worse, but he realised that he would have to face them one day, so why not now.

He had arranged for them to come at midday, and they stormed through the door at 11.58. Why did they have to be early?

It was surprising to Draco how little the two had changed. They hadn't grown since the end of school, and Weasley still looked rugged in his typical hand-me-down clothing. His hair was slightly darker now than it used to be. Potter, however, had not changed at all. He still had the scar on his forehead, too, and his jet black hair was cut short and looked like it hadn't been brushed since he left school. It was a wonder that he was engaged.

"Malfoy?! What the hell are you doing here?" Ronald looked suitably pissed off, causing Draco to shamelessly smirk like old times.

"Ah, Weasley, a pleasure to see you again. As it happens I work here, so I'll be staying for your little meeting just in case anything goes wrong," he drawled sarcastically.

Without further comments, the three of them made their way to Hermione's private room.

When they got there, the two friends didn't hesitate to run to her bedside. She woke up quickly, and smiled fully and widely for the first time in weeks probably, and it lit up her whole face.

"Harry! Ron… what are you doing here," she questioned, maintaining her ecstatic expression.

"Come to see you, of course. How are you? We found you in your bathroom… you need to tell us what happened that night." Ron was right – Draco had been thinking the same for weeks.

"To be quite honest, I feel awful. I remember that night well. I had got home from work, and I had had an awful day. Being so high up in the ranks has its downsides – I was so exhausted, and my boss kept telling me I wasn't working hard enough. I hadn't spoken to either of you in weeks, and Ginny is still being funny with me about you, Ron. I love Pansy but her advice is awful and I don't feel like I can confide in her just yet. So anyway, I was sat on my sofa and I just didn't see the point in anything. I just wanted it all to be over. I tried killing myself two times before something bad finally happened, but even then I couldn't do it properly. You have to be quite a failure to not even be capable of killing yourself. I so wanted to die. I wish I could have spoken to one of you about it, but you just didn't understand." A tear fell off her cheek as she finished speaking.

The two sat in complete silence after she had finished her monologue, and Draco was astounded. How could someone as successful and famous and pretty as Granger feel like that. _Wait, pretty?_

"If I'd have known, 'Mione I would have… oh god this is all my fault!" _Typical Potter, always has to blame himself._

"No Harry, it's not your fault." At that very minute, she caught Draco's eye and they both looked shocked.

"Malfoy? Oh god did you hear all that? I'm so **stupid**!" And with that she burst into a flood of tears.

The Golden Trio sat there for half an hour with Granger as she cried more and more. Draco was glad they ignored him – he felt so awkward intruding in what seemed like such a private moment.

The time eventually came when Potty and Weasel had to leave. They said their goodbyes, and left Draco and the muggleborn in the room together once more.

"So you heard everything I said then." Draco didn't feel the need to reply since she already knew the answer, and waited for her to keep talking. But she didn't.

She looked so exhausted, so lifeless. Like she hadn't slept in weeks. Although she may have failed to kill herself in person, she looked more dead than ever now.

"I didn't tell them that I still want to die. I still want all this to end. At least when they put me in a coma I might be able to escape for a couple of weeks. I don't know why I'm telling you this; it's not like you care."

Draco couldn't think of anything to say then. How could he possibly reply to that?

So, without another word, he left the room. It wasn't that he didn't care. But not caring was easier. It always had been.


End file.
